the worst/best night of my life
4:00AM, August 2, 2008
Darkness, complete darkness, with my eyes wide open.
Just before the door to my private jail cell was shut they gave me some type of a mat (think nasty, smaller version of a yoga mat) and a blanket the size of a towel. It wasn't your typical jail cell with bars, it had four intimidating walls and a tiny window on the massive door.
Let me rewind a little bit.
6:15PM, August 1, 2008
It was great that I only lived an hour away from Denver and how easy it was to make the drive south to watch our National Pastime at the highest level (okay, the Rockies didn't always play at the highest level).
I arrived just in time to meet 3 close buddies for a beer before catching a ballgame in one of the best ballparks in the country, Coors Field. The atmosphere outside the stadium was electric as the LoDo bars were packed with baseball fans. On this perfect August night all was right in the world.
7:05PM
We grabbed some Rockie Dogs and another round of frosty beverages before heading down to our great seats, 15 rows above where Todd Helton roamed his usual territory.
The weather couldn't have been better on that picture perfect Colorado night. The game was going great, Rockies were playing well for once, beer was nice and cold, conversations were top notch.
Over the next 3 hours we ended up having a "few" more. I didn't intend on drinking much that night but the beer was tasting great and I was feeling "fine". I wasn't chugging the beers by no means and we were just having a great time at the ballgame.
10:15PM
After the game we decided to make one more stop at another LoDo bar, after all the night was still young and we weren't ready to call it a night just yet. One round turned into a couple rounds.
All this time I knew that I had made the hour drive to Denver and intended on heading back north that night. I just kept telling myself that "one more" wouldn't hurt. In fact, in my mind, one more wasn't a big deal, as I still felt "fine" to drive.
11:15PM
Despite my buddies trying to convince me to stay in Denver, I told them I was "fine" and then said my goodbyes and started my "routine" drive home.
This was a very easy route as it was just a straight shot north on I-25 back to Greeley, where I lived at the time. I had made this drive hundreds of times. I knew all the exits, all the small towns along the way, all the restaurants. If there was a traffic jam, I even knew all the back roads. I could make this drive in my sleep, so I thought.
12:00AM, August 2nd, 2008
The bumps on the right side of the interstate are there for a reason. Luckily, they woke me up from my brief sleep. Luckily a familiar exit was just up ahead. Luckily, I got off the interstate.
12:05AM
The restaurant I stopped at was one that I stopped at many times before. Johnson's Corner is a famous local truck stop with a lot of history. They are famous for their cinnamon rolls but I had always associated it with the monster vanilla malt that I would get with my Grandpa on the way home from a ballgame.
I had the intention on sitting down, getting some caffeine, maybe some breakfast. I knew I needed to get off the road. Before I sat down at the familiar counter, I went into the restroom. That is when my night went from familiar and routine to traumatic and life changing.
"Sir, is that your blue Toyota Tacoma outside". This is what was asked after two policemen stormed into the Johnson's Corner bathroom. I couldn't answer, I couldn't talk, yet I knew exactly what had happened. I suddenly realized that I must not of just swerved just the one time and somebody wanted to get the driver of a lethal weapon, a blue Toyota Tacoma, off of the road and they called my license plate in.
I didn't get to eat breakfast, didn't get that caffeine. Instead I headed right back outside to wait for more cops to show up (I guess the ones that were first on the scene were not in the right jurisdiction). As I waited and did everything they asked me to do, more and more cops showed up. It was amazing, when it was all said and done there were 12 cops on the scene. 12 cops to make sure I wasn't going to do anything.
Wait, what?!?! How the hell did I put myself in a position where 12 cops were needed to keep me from going anywhere???
Didn't I just go to a ball game?
While I was waiting, one of the officers looked at my I.D. and said something I'll never forget: "Hertzke? Oh, your Greg Hertzke. Didn't you grow up on that dairy farm that just got demolished by the tornado. I was so sad to see you guys get hit, that dairy had been around forever. By the way, I have met your Dad and Grandpa, great guys."
Ouch, what did I do.
I have always been so proud of the name Hertzke. How could I not. My family has done so many great things in the community to make it a very respected name. I have always tried to live up to what the name means to me.
Back in 2004 I was working with some farmers and trying to help them from losing their farms. I was just a 25 year old kid who knew nothing and a certain farmer sensed just that. Here is how our exchange went:
me: "Hello Sir, how are you?"
Pissed off farmer: "How am I? I am losing a third generational farm, the governer could care less, the legislators could care less, the cities, they could care less. And here I am dealing with a F@!#ing kid that looks like he should still be in F@!#ing high school! How is it that I have to sit here and rely on you to save my farm? Son, what is your name?"
me: "Greg Hertzke"
Happy Farmer: "Hertzke, as in the Hertzke Dairy, why didn't you say so. Sorry for the harsh words, glad your helping out your fellow farmers and if your anything like your Dad or Grandpa, you will do just fine."
This was not a next door neighbor, he farmed about 50 miles away from my family dairy. The respect that my Grandpa and Dad have gained for this great name was truly amazing. I did nothing and yet I had instant respect.
All of a sudden I found myself in jeopardy of killing all of that respect. All of a sudden I found myself with 12 cops making sure I didn't leave a scene.
The two cops finally showed up that were supposed to be there. They quickly did a roadside sobriety test and then handcuffed me and put me into the back of the cop car. I never thought I would see the back of a cop car much less feel the excruciating pain of being handcuffed.
I just went to a ballgame with some buddies, didn't I?
2:05AM
The officer in the passenger seat explained to me that the normal place they take DUI offenders was already full for the night so they were going to have to take me to the Weld County Jail. Sadly, this was common for a weekend night. This meant that I was going to have to spend the night with some of the worst people in Weld County.
It took a long time to book me after we finally arrived. First was the official blood test. My BAC (Blood Alcohol Concentration) turned out to be 0.162, just over twice the legal limit. Remember, I honestly thought I was "fine" to drive.
And then as I was walking into the spot to be officially booked I hear this:
"Greg? Greg Hertzke?? Is that you??? Man, you are the last person that I would have ever expected to see here!"
My first thought was: thank god, a familiar face in this godforsaken place. My next thought was: not good, somebody knows that I am in this godforsaken place. This friendly voice was the father of a former high school baseball teammate of mine. I had forgotten he worked in the jail. He remembered me, but he remembered a much better version of me.
The next step was to take the mug shot and do the finger prints. Really!?!?!? I put myself in a position to take a mug shot?? I just couldn't comprehend this. Before the mug shot, they took my shoes, they took my shorts and lent me a nice pair of orange pants with a number on them. They took my collared shirt but let me keep my plain white undershirt. They even took my Rockies hat.
Someday, I would like to see that mug shot. Blood shot eyes, plain white tee, hat hair. Yeah, I'm sure it was flattering. I bet it didn't look like a guy that just went to a ballgame with his buddies.
3:00AM
Booked. Mug shot done. Two weeks earlier I had a face to face meeting with a United States Congresswoman. This night I was an inmate in the Weld County Jail.
I had a couple options, I could call a bail bond agent (I didn't even know what they did and I guess I was always kind of proud about being the type of person that never needed to know what a bail bond agent did). The first option would have required me to call a friend or family member right then and ask them to come pick me up.
The second option was to spend the rest of the night in jail and appear before a judge at 8AM, after which I would be released on my own but put on probation until my official DUI hearing. I chose option 2.
Why? Simple: I was utterly ashamed. I didn't want to call my brothers, I didn't want to call my parents, I didn't want to call my friends. I am not the type of person that should ever have to make the one phone call in the middle of the night and I wasn't about to do it that night. I was going to tuff it out and spend the night in jail. I was going to stand up in front of the judge at 8AM and then get my stuff and walk home.
I lived 7 miles away.
4AM
Darkness, complete darkness, with my eyes wide open.
Just before the door to my private jail cell was shut they gave me some type of a mat (think nasty, smaller version of a yoga mat) and a blanket the size of a towel. It wasn't your typical jail cell with bars, it had four intimidating walls and a tiny window on the massive door.
4:30AM
The door opens, my eyes still wide open. I got a roommate, lucky me.
The next hour and a half was the longest hour and half of my life. My new roomate stayed on his side of the tiny room as I listened to him say "bullshit, f$@#ing bullshit!!!!" over and over again. Ocassionaly he would happen to mention what he was going to do to his girl when he got home. She was going to "pay for this". Wow, I just went to a ballgame, right??
6AM
The door opens, finally. I am taken to an area where about a dozen of us were instructed to wait for the 8AM hearing. They offered us breakfast but I didn't touch the food and I didn't speak a word to anybody. Thankfully I didn't have much in common with my fellow inmates.
Two of other guys wearing orange pants were very happy to see each other again, seems they only get together on the inside. What a nice place for a consistent reunion.
One guy was bragging about how this is his 5th time in this place and how much nicer it was than some of the other county jails he had been in. Glad to hear that this was one of the better spots, I'll take his word for it.
One guy was going on and on how the "bitch deserved it". Sadly this wasn't my roommate, it was another guy bragging about hitting a woman. Didn't I just go to a ballgame??
7:45AM
"Line up here!"
8AM
There were a number of people in that court room, but my head was straight down. I couldn't deal with being recognized anymore.
Before it was my turn, I listened to a few of my fellow inmates reacquaint themselves with the judge, it was unbelievable how many knew the man wearing the intimidating black robe. I sat there and waited until it was my turn. I thought this was going to be easy as I had already signed the plea and knew what was about to happen. Well, maybe not.
"Is there anybody in the room that would like to speak on behalf of the defendant, Gregory W. Hertzke?"
"I would your honor".
My heart hit the floor and I about broke my neck as I turned around as quick as humanly possible. In that moment, I saw something that I should of expected but didn't. I saw the most calming, reassuring look from one of my closest friends in the world. My brother, Brad, was in that courtroom and wanted to say a few kind words about his little brother.
Like me, he had been up all night waiting for this hearing.
I thought that part of my plea was that I didn't need to contact anybody, I would be able to just walk home. I guess not, I remembered filling out Brad's name on one of the 3AM forms that I filled out, but didn't realize that he would be called. It turned out that I was glad that he was.
moving on
That is the great thing about having the Hertzke name. Just when I thought that I couldn't have screwed up anymore, my family was there for me. Every single one of them. They obviously knew that I screwed up but they knew that I was the type of person that would learn from that night. They were thankful that I swerved right that night. It is still tough to imagine what my life would be like today if I swerved left, going 75 miles an hour on a busy interstate.
Over the next year I would have to pay many fines and attorney fees that I couldn't afford. I would have to sit through countless hours of "mandated therapy" which wasn't therapy at all.
None of that stuff mattered. I realized that if I swerved left, going 75 miles an hour on a busy interstate, my life would have been flipped upside down. If I was lucky enough to survive a crash, I could have spent more than that one night with the worst people on earth. That could have been my new reality. Those could of been my new "friends". I could of easily lost everything I ever knew and loved.
I honestly don't regret going to that ballgame and having the beers that I did, it was a great night with 3 close buddies. I do regret not lining up a solid alternative ride home. I screwed up before the first beer, not after the last one.
I didn't just go to a ballgame that night, in fact, I had the greatest night of my life. It was a night that changed me for the better and caused me to question everything that I did to put myself in that situation. It caused me to question myself.
Most importantly it helped me realize how lucky I am to still have the friends and family that I do.
It was much bigger than a ballgame.